


Reunion

by ChocolatteKitty_Kat



Series: Knights of the Round Table [3]
Category: King Arthur (2004)
Genre: Gen, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-05
Updated: 2019-02-05
Packaged: 2019-10-22 14:15:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17664209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChocolatteKitty_Kat/pseuds/ChocolatteKitty_Kat
Summary: Knights of the Round Table, a King Arthur fanfiction, Part 2. Set in the same year as the film. Gawain and Galahad travel to Rome to fulfill a promise. Sequel to Meeting.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Setting: immediately after the film.

Bright, yellow sunshine streamed through the window, waking the young girl as it warmed her. Claudia sat up, yawned, and stretched, tossing the long chestnut curls that tumbled down her back.

“Morning,” Aria, her roommate, yawned from across the room. Aria was a pretty, exotic girl with deeply tan skin, black eyes, and straight black hair. Unlike Claudia, however, Aria was a slave, bought by her master as a birthday present for his young daughter. Claudia was merely a girl taken in by the family many years previous, when they were still in Britain, and who had remained with them for lack of a better place to go.

Aria stood, still yawning, and moved to get dressed, and Claudia followed suit. The girls dressed quickly, Aria in a light orange toga and Claudia in a dull green dress that was more in the style of her own people of Britain. “I’m going to the market today,” Aria informed her friend as she wound Claudia’s unruly curls into a heavy bun at the nape of her neck. “Would you like to come along?”

Unlike Aria, Claudia did not have daily duties, being a “free” woman—technically speaking. No-one had ever attempted to force her to do work, or treated her like a servant, although it was made clear she was expected to help out around the house, and equally clear she was not to stray from it without permission. When Aria was finished with her hair, Claudia turned and nodded in reply, then wound her friend’s hair into a similar bun.

Claudia followed Aria through the house as the girl did her morning chores to get Prisca, the patriarch’s young daughter, ready for the day. Prisca didn’t like Claudia, so the Briton stayed back from the Roman girl, risking pinches and pokes if she got to close. Finally, Aria was finished and the two girls headed for the marketplace.

The streets of Rome were packed, people pushing and shoving to get to where they needed to go. Claudia had been in Rome for a little over a year and had hated every minute of it. There was far too much noise and bustle and not nearly enough greenery for her tastes, having grown up on the wild island of Britain. However, she hated to remain cooped up in the family’s villa all the time, so she accompanied Aria into the market every few days.

“Good morning, Gaius,” Aria said politely as they reached her favorite stand in the marketplace. It was small and not busy, at least for the moment, and sold fresh fruit, brought in from Gaius’s family farm each morning.

“Good morning, Aria,” Gaius blushed. “Claudia,” he added quickly, spotting the brunette behind the object of his affections. Claudia rolled her eyes and smiled teasingly. The reason this was Aria’s favorite stall was because she liked the boy who ran it, not just because it always had the best fruit.

“What’s the news today?” Aria asked, her eyes flickering between the boy and the fruit, making a pretense of examining the wares.

“Actually, it’ll interest Claudia more than you, I think,” Gaius admitted, turning to Claudia, who cocked her head to the side to show her interest. “There’s news from Britain. Apparently, when Bishop Germanius left the island, the last commander at Hadrian’s wall stayed behind to fight the incoming Saxons.”

“Are you serious?” Aria gaped. “That’s suicide!”

“They don’t think he and his men made it,” Gaius shook his head sadly.

“Well, if nothing else, it took balls,” Aria observed; ignoring Gaius’s blush at her language. “Who was the commander?”

“Artorius Castus,” Gaius replied. “He was the commander of the Sarmation knights stationed at the wall.”

Claudia heard nothing else the boy said, her ears suddenly replacing the clamor of the busy marketplace with the roaring of blood. She gripped the table of Gaius’s stall to keep from falling. A hand on her arm startled her, and she looked up to find Gaius and Aria staring at her in concern.

“Claudia, are you alright?” Aria asked, clearly worried.

Claudia forced herself to nod and straighten up. She gestured back the way she and Aria had come, indicating a wish to return to the villa.

“You want to go back?” Aria asked gently. Claudia nodded, but Aria hesitated. “I still have shopping to do. Can you make it on your own?”

Claudia nodded again, giving her friend and the Roman boy a reassuring smile before slipping into the crowd and heading for the villa. As she walked, she listened to various conversations going on around her; the topic of the morning seemed to be the rumors about what had happened in Britain.

“…Bishop Germanius returned last night  _ without _ the commander from the wall.”

“One of his soldiers is friends with my brother’s master’s son, and he said that Artorius and his knights stayed back.”

“I heard that there were nearly a thousand Saxons coming from the north.”

“I heard that there were over  _ two _ thousand.”

“Why would they stay? They had no chance.”

“…And Bishop Germanius brought back Alecto, the son of Marius Honorius, and the boy said that the knights planned to die at the wall.”

“With those odds, they probably did.”

By the time she reached the villa, Claudia had made up her mind. She was going to Britain, on her own, to return to her people and find out what had really happened at the wall.

\-----

Gawain grimaced as the Woad healer poked at the wound under his left armpit. He had been hit by a Saxon crossbow bolt in the Battle of Badon Hill almost two months previous, but he kept accidentally ripping the stitches holding the wound shut, and it had finally become infected and now refused to heal. His arm was currently propped on the Woad’s shoulder as the man began to stitch the wound yet again; the infection had cleared enough to do so.

“Done,” Bedivere, the large Woad man who reminded Gawain and his Sarmatian brothers so much of their recently deceased companion Dagonet, informed his patient as he eased Gawain’s arm from his shoulder. “If you rip them out again, I’m not stitching it anymore.”

Gawain shrugged as he pulled his shirt back on and Bedivere stepped away. “Thank you,” he mumbled as he slipped past the healer and out of the infirmary. He was met outside by a worried-looking Galahad, leaning against the wall next to the door of the infirmary.

“So?” Galahad prompted, falling into step beside his best friend as Gawain strapped his sword around his waist.

“I’ll live,” Gawain teased. This wound was certainly not the greatest of those he had sustained during the battle, but it had caused the most trouble as he repeatedly ripped the stitches out and then had gotten infected. In fact, Gawain found himself hobbling slightly, as a wicked gash in his left thigh (remarkably close to a scar from a similar wound sustained over a year before) and a chunk that had been taken out of the calf of the same leg kept him from evenly distributing his weight. He had ripped the stitches on both of these wounds nearly as many times as the one under his arm

Galahad sighed and rolled his shoulders. He was tired of the inaction in the fort in the wake of the battle. Arthur kept encouraging them to rest and heal, but he had a feeling that if he rested and healed much longer, he’d go crazy.

Gawain caught the sigh and glanced at his friend. “Bored?” he teased.

“Very,” Galahad grumbled.

Gawain laughed and continued limping towards the barracks. He thought for a moment, then glanced over to Galahad. “I’m going to Rome. Would you like to come with me?”

“Rome?” Galahad repeated, incredulous. “Why the  _ hell _ would you want to go there?”

“I have a promise to keep,” Gawain shrugged. “Are you coming or not?”


	2. Chapter 2

When Claudia returned to the villa, she avoided the other occupants, retreating to her room and sinking down onto her bed. She stared at her hands, completely conscious of the fact that she was trembling rather violently. Dozens of questions raced through her mind, centering on Arthur and his knights, especially the bronze-haired loudmouth she had befriended over a year before. Unbidden, tears welled in her eyes as she remembered the promise Gawain had made her: that he would come and find her in Rome once his duty to Arthur had ended. As her eyes overflowed and the tears dripped into her lap, she silently cursed the fair-haired knight for breaking his promise—after all, how could he keep it if he was dead?

She spent the rest of the morning and most of the afternoon crying softly into her pillow, not having realized how much she had been counting on Gawain coming for her. She hated Rome with a passion, and had only stayed because of his promise. She had planned to leave with him, whether or not he wanted her and whether or not he was returning to Britain, since there was no way she was staying Rome any longer.

By the evening she had made up her mind: she would go to Britain on her own, partly to find out the truth behind the rumors, and partly to return to a land where she knew she could belong, since there was no way she would ever find a home in Rome.

It didn’t take her long to gather her things and bundle them into the rucksack that had originally borne them to Rome from Britain. She changed into a sturdy dress and tucked her boots and rucksack under her bed, then curled up under her blanket and pretended to sleep when Aria got back.

Once Aria had slept for several hours and the moon had risen, Claudia stood and slipped silently out of the room, slinging the rucksack onto her back and carrying her sandals. She padded through the villa, stopping in the kitchens to steal some food and a waterskin, then crept out and away from it. The gates to the city had been closed for the night, so she settled down nearby to wait for them to be opened in the morning.

She actually dozed for a few hours, huddled in her cloak against the side of a building, until the light of dawn and changing of the guard at the gate woke her. As soon as the gate was opened, she strode through, dodging the incoming traffic. She pulled her hood up to conceal her face, worried that she would spot Gaius among the people entering the city.

It wasn’t until the sun was high in the sky that Claudia pushed the hood back and the cloak off her shoulders, finally beginning to get too warm under them. She glanced over her shoulder towards Rome, no longer visible in the distance, for neither the first nor last time, and allowed herself a small smile. For the first time since she had been found in the woods of Britain, she was free.

\-----

“YOU WANT TO GO  _ WHERE _ ???” Bors bellowed when he heard Gawain and Galahad’s plan.

“Rome,” Gawain replied calmly, staring across the Round Table at Arthur and ignoring the burly knight fuming to his left.

“What in God’s name has possessed you to want to go to Rome?” Arthur sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Gawain remained silent, not sure how to answer. “He says he has a promise to keep,” Galahad supplied, sending a confused glance towards his best friend.

“What promise could be so important that you need to go to Rome?” Bors was still fuming, his face an ugly shade of red, although his voice was considerably lower.

Gawain bit his lip, doubting his fellow knights—or Arthur, for that matter—would understand, but finally spoke: “There’s a little British girl there who’s waiting to come home, and I promised to find her in Rome when I was free. I’m not about to break that promise.”

Arthur looked at his youngest knight, considering the request. He knew that even if he refused, Gawain was likely to go anyways, and less likely to return if he left under such circumstances. “You are a free man,” he said slowly.

Gawain nodded. “But I’d still appreciate your blessing on the journey,” he admitted.

“Then you have it,” Arthur nodded firmly.

“We’ll be back in a few weeks, at the most,” Gawain said, standing. Beside him, Galahad jumped up as well.

“We look forward to your return,” Arthur smiled slightly, standing as well.

“Don’t go getting yourselves killed,” Bors grunted, cuffing Gawain on the side of the head before pulling the two young knights into a brief bear hug.

“We won’t,” Gawain’s eyes glinted with something dark as he left the room, Galahad tagging along behind.

Arthur sighed and met Bors’s glance. “They’ll be fine,” he said, to reassure himself as much as the eldest of his knights. “They’ll be fine,” he repeated under his breath as he followed Bors from the chamber.


	3. Chapter 3

“Are you sure you have everything?” Vanora asked, flitting around Gawain and Galahad where they stood with their horses in the courtyard of Arthur’s home.

“We’re sure,” Gawain insisted for the fifth time that morning. Vanora had packed the two knights with enough travel provisions—dried meat and fruit—to last them over a month, although they hoped to be back before that much time had passed.

“You’re sure you have enough food?” Vanora worried. Behind her Bors rolled his eyes, then quickly snapped to attention when she whipped around and glared at him.

“They have plenty of food, luv,” he soothed her, placing a hand on her shoulder and glaring over her head at the young knights waiting to ride out. “Now they just hav’ ta make it to Rome and back.”

“We will,” Galahad insisted.

“Don’t worry,” Gawain smirked. “We’ll be back in no time to raise hell and corrupt your little ones.”

“With him for a father, they’re corrupt enough,” Vanora teased, elbowing Bors in the ribs. “We need you to come back and make ‘em decent.”

Gawain laughed as Vanora hugged him tightly, then released him and moved on to Galahad. Bors followed his lover’s example, giving Gawain and then Galahad giant bear hugs that lifted them off of their feet and crushed their bones.

“Be careful,” Arthur said firmly, grasping Gawain’s forearm.

“We didn’t defeat the Saxons just to die on a sight-seeing expedition to Rome,” Gawain joked. “We’ll be fine.”

Beside him, Galahad nodded firmly in agreement, his loose dark curls bouncing at the motion. Arthur smiled and stepped back to where Guinevere stood, wrapping an arm around his Woad wife’s shoulders. Gawain and Galahad mounted their horses, taking the reins from Jols. With final nods to their commander-turned-king, they dug their heels into the horses’ sides and were off on their journey towards Rome.

\-----

Claudia woke late in the morning, having walked late into the night before. She had fallen asleep in a shallow ditch along the side of the road, covered with her dull green cloak to keep her from prying eyes. She sat up only when she was sure no-one was on the road beside her, then climbed slowly out of the ditch and began walking. Her feet were already sore and blistered, and her back ached from the rucksack hanging from her shoulders. She pulled her cloak more tightly around her body against the chill of the late Italian winter.

“At least it’s dry,” she muttered to herself, shocked to hear the sound of her own voice. For the past seven and a half years, she had hardly spoken a word to anyone, not even herself. Now she knew she’d have to get used to talking again if she wanted to make a life on her own back in her homeland.

She walked slowly, not feeling a need to hurry to Britain. After all, she had all the time in the world. On foot, she wouldn’t make good time anyways, and she had no intention of trying to hitch a ride with anyone. No, walking would get her there eventually, and give her plenty of time to figure out what she would do once she returned to Britain.

\-----

It took Claudia almost a week to reach the first village on the road from Rome that was far enough away from the city she wasn’t worried about any search parties finding her in. She stumbled along the road so exhausted that she didn’t even realize that she had entered a village until she ran into someone.

“Whoa there, girlie,” large hands caught her shoulders and kept her from falling. Claudia looked up into a kindly face, tanned and weather-worn, surrounded by wispy dark hair. Warm brown eyes, full of concern, stared down at her. “Come with me,” the deep voice rumbled again. An arm wrapped itself around her shoulders, and the man led her to a nearby house.

“Lucilla!” the man called as he pulled Claudia into the house. “Lucilla, come here! We have a guest.”

Claudia barely registered the woman who hurried in, wiping her hands on her apron. She gasped and rushed to their side. “Poor thing!” she cooed over Claudia. “Let’s get you set down.”

The couple led Claudia to a seat on a low bench in the main room of the house. Once she had been made to sit, the man disappeared while the woman busied herself making Claudia comfortable. She eased of the girl’s shoes,  _ tsk _ -ing when she saw the blisters and broken skin on her small feet. “How long have you been walking, girl?”

“A week,” Claudia forced out.

“A week!?” Lucilla gasped. “Whatever for?”

“I’m going home,” Claudia replied softly.

“Home?” Lucilla asked.

“To Britain,” Claudia admitted. “A Roman family took me to Rome when they left the island over a year ago. I am tired of the city, so I am going home.”

“You are a slave, then?” Lucilla leaned back warily. The punishment for helping a slave run away was more than she wanted to risk bringing down on herself and her husband.

“No!” Claudia snapped, head lifting to stare defiantly at Lucilla. “They found me when I was a child and took me in. They claimed it was kindness, but they treated me like a pet. They always said I was free, yet I was made to come to Rome with them. No, I go home.”

“Enough,” Lucilla soothed, resting a hand on Claudia’s shoulder. “What is your name?”

“The Romans call me Claudia,” she replied.

“I am Lucilla,” the woman smiled gently. “My husband is Silvanus. Stay with us, for a day or two, and regain your strength.”

“I must keep moving,” Claudia insisted.

“What is your hurry?” Lucilla asked. “Why must you return to Britain so quickly? Is there someone waiting for you?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Claudia said softly.

“Then stay,” Lucilla pressed. “Rest. Let your feet heal; they are broken and bloody.”

Claudia grimaced at the state of her feet. Her blisters had burst and turned the appendages into a bloody mess, and her boots were beginning to show spots of blood even through the leather. “Thank you,” she said slowly.

“Are you hungry?” Lucilla asked as Silvanus returned, bearing a bowl of water, a few rags, bandages, and a jar of something odd-smelling.

“Not really,” Claudia lied. “Just tired.”

“Well, I’m making dinner,” Lucilla said, standing and brushing her hands on her apron. “You’re welcome to eat with us when it’s done, if you find your appetite.”

“Thank you,” Claudia smiled slightly. Lucilla returned the smile and bustled out of the room as Silvanus sat on the floor in front of Claudia.

“I’m going to clean and bandage your feet,” he explained, taking one in his hands and beginning to bathe it in the water. Claudia winced as the cool liquid splashed over her broken skin, burning as it entered the open wounds. Silvanus was gentle as he sponged away the blood and cleaned her skin. The foot didn’t look so bad once it was clean, Claudia though. Next, Silvanus gently spread the strange contents of the pot over her feet, the smelly salve soothing and cooling her torn skin.

“Are you a healer?” Claudia asked as he wrapped the first foot in bandages before moving to the second.

“No,” Silvanus chuckled. “A blacksmith. But Lucilla keeps many remedies such as this around the house, because we often take in travelers in such a state as you.”

“I see,” Claudia replied through gritted teeth as the man poured water over her foot to wash out the wounds. The cooling salve was a welcome relief, as were the bandages that wrapped her foot to protect it from dirt. “Thank you,” she repeated as Silvanus finished and stood to dispose of the bloody rags and water.

“You are welcome, child,” he smiled warmly before leaving.

As Claudia sat alone, looking around the room that was smaller and poorer than she had been in since her childhood, she grew drowsy. She felt more at home in the house of these strangers than she had in the place she had called home for six years in Britain, and certainly more than she ever had or would have in Rome. She had nearly nodded off when Silvanus and Lucilla returned.

“Are you hungry now, Claudia?” Lucilla asked gently.

“Not really,” Claudia shook her head. “Mostly just tired.”

“Well, eat a bit for now,” Lucilla prompted, setting a warm bowl of stew in front of the girl. “Then we’ll get you settled in for the night.”

“Thank you,” Claudia murmured yet again, slowly eating the stew that Lucilla had given her. She felt her eyelids droop as the stew warmed her belly, chasing away lingering pockets of chill that lingered in her body.

“Come now,” Lucilla said, a smile in her voice, as she helped Claudia to her feet. The pain in her soles made Claudia grit her teeth as the woman led her deeper into the house. “Here,” Lucilla sad gently, guiding Claudia to a seat on a small bed. “Sleep,” she prompted, helping Claudia untangle herself from her cloak and rucksack, setting them aside.

Claudia laid down on the bed, allowing Lucilla to cover her with warm blankets. The woman left then, taking the small candle that had been the only light in the room with her. Before the light was gone, Claudia was asleep.


	4. Chapter 4

The week they spent at sea was one of the worst of Gawain’s life. The youngest of Arthur’s knights had learned as a child to be confident and move to express that confidence, but the constant rocking and rolling of the ship had him stumbling around like a drunk. Galahad fared even worse; he spent the first five days vomiting everything in his body over the side of the ship, and the last lying on the deck in agony, dry heaving as there was nothing left to choke up.

Gawain was nearly positive that the day they docked was the happiest he had ever known. He slung Galahad over the back of his horse, and led both horses off of the ship. Gringolet and Galahad’s horse Maximus—why Galahad had given the beast a Roman name was beyond the comprehension of the other knights—seemed nearly as happy for solid ground as Gawain was. He booked himself and Galahad a room in the first in he found, settled the horses in the inn’s stable, and carried his friend to the room, dumping him unceremoniously on one of the beds.

Galahad groaned and rolled onto his side, clutching his stomach. Gawain sighed and patted him on the shoulder. “You’ll feel better eventually.”

“I’m not sure I believe that,” Galahad retorted.

Gawain laughed. “I’ll go find you something to eat.”

“I’ll just throw it up,” Galahad said miserably.

Gawain didn’t bother to respond as he left the room, heading down to the inn’s main floor. He accosted a serving-girl as she was about to duck into the kitchen. “My friend has spent the last week getting very ill on a ship. Is there anything your cook could make him to calm his stomach?”

The girl nodded. “I will ask.”

“Thank you,” Gawain smiled and released her. He waited outside until she reappeared.

“The cook is making soup for your friend,” she informed him. “It should not take long.”

“Thank you,” Gawain repeated, smiling gratefully. As he waited, he surveyed the dining room of the inn. In his hurry to find somewhere for Galahad to rest, Gawain had simply chosen the first inn they came to, resulting in their temporary abode being a somewhat seedy establishment. The common area, then, was chock full of some less-than-savory characters. While Gawain had no doubt in his ability to defend himself against said ruffians, he made a mental vow to not leave Galahad alone in the inn while the other was so incapacitated.

Gawain was engaged in a staring contest with a particularly large specimen of the inn’s populace when the serving girl returned with two bowls of soup and a small loaf of bread. Gawain accepted them and thanked her profusely, sending a final glare towards the bear across the room before heading back upstairs to Galahad.

“Galahad?” he asked, poking his head into the room. While he had been gone, Galahad had closed the shutters, effectively blocking out the light of the setting sun, and curled up under the blankets on his bed. The slight but rhythmic rise and fall of the mound of blankets told Gawain that his friend had fallen asleep. With a sigh, he set one of the bowls on the windowsill by Galahad’s bed and settled onto the other cot with his own bowl and the bread. He ate slowly and thoughtfully, trying to decide on a course of action for the morning, when he planned to set out for Rome.

Wanting to make sure his friend ate, Gawain woke Galahad after he had finished eating and all but force-fed the soup and remaining bread to the older knight. “Better?” Gawain asked, watching Galahad spoon the last of his soup into his mouth.

“Yes,” Galahad admitted begrudgingly. “It feels good to have something in my stomach again.”

Gawain nodded and stood, holding out his hand for Galahad’s empty bowl. “Get some rest. I want to head out in the morning.”

Galahad nodded sleepily as Gawain stepped out of the room. Gawain closed the door gently behind him and turned around, just to run into the giant he had encountered downstairs. “Sorry,” Gawain muttered, stepping back into the doorway to allow the giant—and his trio of slightly smaller friends—to pass.

“Wot’sat?” the giant slurred, leering close to Gawain’s face. He stank of ale, and his eyes were bloodshot.

“Sorry,” Gawain enunciated. “Please, go past. I don’t want any trouble?”

“’nd whatiff we do?” the giant growled, reaching out with a meaty paw to shove Gawain’s shoulder.

“I wouldn’t, if I were you,” Gawain easily dodged the slow blow.

Out of nowhere, the bear’s other hand slammed into the side of Gawain’s head, just behind his ear. The blow sent him reeling into the shut door behind him.

Dully, he heard the massive man and his friends laughing. It took a moment to realize that he had dropped the bowls from the kitchen and they had shattered on the floor. Gawain made a show of clutching his head and cringing into the doorway, baiting the giant to hit him again. Fortunately, the narrow hallway would prevent the others from ganging up on him.

The man took the bait and lunged at Gawain as well as he could given the confines of the corridor and his own drunken state. This time, Gawain was ready; he caught the fist flung towards his stomach and drove his knee up into the man’s most sensitive area, easily doubling him over. He drove his elbow into the dip between the man’s shoulders, sending him crashing to the floor.

The next ruffian lunged at Gawain, swinging his fist around towards the side of Gawain’s jaw. The knight easily caught the man’s wrist with his hand, then drove his own fist in a vicious uppercut to the man’s jaw, sending him stumbling back into the opposite wall. The third would-be assailant came more slowly after seeing his friends beaten off so easily. He attempted to edge his way out of Gawain’s field of vision, but when it became clear that wouldn’t work, he leapt at the knight, arms outstretched as he apparently tried to pancake Gawain on the floor. Instead, Gawain dodged and lunged, ramming his shoulder into the man’s ribcage and sending him tumbling into both of his friends as they attempted to rise.

Gawain turned to the final man, only to find him doubled over in laughter, clutching his stomach as he guffawed at his friends sprawled on the floor. Behind Gawain, the door creaked open slowly.

“Oh,  _ now _ you show up,” Gawain rolled his eyes, teasing Galahad as the other poked his head into the hall.

“Shut up,” Galahad grumbled.

\-----

Cymbeline spent three days with Silvanus and Lucilla, grateful for the rest. She helped Lucilla around the house as much as the kind woman would let her, then spent the rest of the day in Silvanus’s forge when Lucilla shooed her away. She watched Silvanus work, occasionally lending a hand when he would let her, but usually just stared wistfully at the wall of weapons to the side of the forge. She hadn’t anything but a kitchen knife since being taken by the Romans, and even that was rare.

On the third day, Cymbeline informed her hosts that she would be leaving in the morning. “I am… so grateful for everything you have done for me, both of you,” she explained, “but I need to get home. I’ve been away for so long… And now that I’m finally free, I need to go back and try to find a place for myself.”

“We understand,” Lucilla smiled and nodded. She stood from the breakfast table and vanished into the kitchen, to Cymbeline’s confusion.

“I want you to take this,” Silvanus brought forth a narrow, long dagger from under the table. It was encased in a metal sheath, and the hilt was decorated with a beautifully-worked lion’s head.

“I cannot accept that,” Cymbeline protested.

Silvanus smiled. “It is flawed. I cannot sell it. Please, take it.”

Cymbeline accepted the dagger reluctantly, testing its weight in her hand. “Thank you,” she said finally. She set the dagger in her lap as Lucilla returned, carrying Cymbeline’s pack.

“Here,” the woman handed the bag to Cymbeline. “Food and water for your journey.”

“Thank you,” Cymbeline said gratefully.

“Come,” Lucilla motioned Cymbeline to her feet and pulled her into a brief, tight hug. “Be safe on the road.”

“Thank you,” Cymbeline repeated. Silvanus and Lucilla accompanied her to the road outside the house. “Thank you. For everything.”

“Be careful,” Lucilla cautioned again. “Stay away from other travelers. Do not let soldiers catch you, or they will take you back from Rome.”

Cymbeline nodded, securing the dagger on her belt, hidden by a fold in her skirt. She thanked the couple again, accepted another hug from Lucilla, and set off northwards.


	5. Chapter 5

The next morning, Gawain and Galahad set off just after sunrise, heading for Rome. Galahad was still very pale, but claimed to feel much better than the day before. He wove slightly in his saddle when they began to ride, but quickly recovered and by noon was back to his usual self.

Gawain was quiet, only half-listening to Galahad’s chatter and ignoring the scenery as it passed them by. Galahad noticed his companion’s thoughtful demeanor, and eventually trailed off into silence. By the time they stopped for the night, both knights had entirely ceased to speak and sat still and silent in their saddles.

“What have you been thinking about all day?” Galahad asked, breaking the long silence, as he sat across the fire from Gawain.

“Nothing important,” Gawain replied.

Galahad arched an eyebrow, but let the question go and silence fell again. A short while later, it was again Galahad who broke this quiet with another question: “What promise?”

Gawain looked up. “What?”

“What promise are you here to keep?” Galahad replied. “You said before we left that you had a promise to keep in Rome. What promise was that? Who could you have made such an important promise to in Rome?”

Gawain didn’t reply, and for a while, Galahad didn’t think his friend would reply. “Do you remember, about two years ago, when we escorted that Roman family out of England, right at the beginning of winter?”

“The time when you had to ride the entire way in a wagon because a Woad hurt your leg?”

“Yes.”

“What of it?”

“Do you remember the girl?”

“Which one?”

“The sick one, who rode in the wagon with me. The one that Dagonet was taking care of the whole time.”

“Right. What was her name? Cl… Claudia?”

“Cymbeline,” Gawain corrected.

“Well, that doesn’t sound very Roman.”

“She wasn’t Roman. She was Briton. Or Woad, I’m not sure which. One of the woman from the household said that the men found her on a hunting trip, alone in the forest. They brought her back with them and called her Claudia because she wouldn’t speak or tell them her name. They assumed she couldn’t speak.” Gawain paused for several long seconds. “When we reached the port, she didn’t want to leave. She didn’t say, but it was obvious.” He shifted slightly and poked at the fire. “I told her that it would be better for her in Rome; there was nowhere for her here, and I promised that once I was free, I would come to Rome and find her and bring her back to Britain. She told me her name before she went.”

Galahad nodded thoughtfully. “So, we’re going to find her?”

“We are,” Gawain nodded.

“And how exactly do you plan to do that?”

“Let’s start by actually making it to Rome.”

For the next several days, Gawain and Galahad rode for Rome. They did not push their horses, but kept a steady and brisk pace, hoping to make it to Rome and back before the ships stopped for the winter. The rode from sunup until after sundown, until it was so dark they could hardly see their hands in front of their faces—only then did they stop, making a small fire to warm themselves before they drifted off for a few hours.

While Galahad and Gawain rode, Cymbeline walked. She passed few other travelers on the road, and was glad for that. Whenever she heard horses approaching, she would duck off the road, huddling in ditches or hiding behind trees until the hoof beats had faded into the distance. When she crossed paths with foot travelers, she pulled her hood down over her face and her cloak tight around her arms, and wove in the road as if she were ill. This gave others cause to leave her a wide berth, and kept her away from trouble. Her nights were spent huddled in her cloak and covered by a small, thin blanket that Lucilla had packed in her bag, tucked into hollows or curled up in ditches.

Cymbeline was still many days’ walk from the coast when Gawain and Galahad rode into Rome. In broken Latin, they managed to get directions to the villa where Cymbeline’s Roman family lived. They made their way to the house, and were ushered in front of the patriarch.

“Milord,” Gawain bowed slightly to the patriarch; Galahad followed suit.

“Two of the knights from the wall,” the patriarch marveled. “We had heard you all died fighting off Saxons. What brings you to Rome?”

“We’re looking for someone,” Gawain explained, “someone from your household.”

“And who might that be.”

“Claudia. She’s a British girl. You and your men found her in the woods while hunting when she was a child.”

“Ah, Claudia,” the patriarch leaned back. “Yes, well, I’m afraid you’ve come too late.”

“Too late?” Gawain repeated.

“She disappeared, almost two weeks ago,” the patriarch shrugged. “In the middle of the night, just vanished. I sent out men in search of her, but they found no sign.”

Gawain nodded, tense. “Well then, we thank you for your time.” He bowed more fully, then turned and left, Galahad directly behind him.

“Now what?” Galahad asked his friend as they rode out of Rome.

“The main road north is the same one we came on,” Gawain replied. “Any other would be more out of the way than avoiding trouble would be worth. Cymbeline will be on the same road we took. We just have to find her.”


	6. Chapter 6

Cymbeline was tired. She could no longer remember how many days she had walked since she left Rome. She had run out of food a week earlier, and water a few days after that. She was exhausted, but knew there was little hope of finding food, water, or a kind soul. She no longer bothered to hid when she heard or saw anyone else on the road, partly because she was to tired to worry, partly because it was unlikely anyone would have followed her this far from Rome, and partly because she knew she looked unsteady and ill enough that no one would want to bother with her anyways.

Gawain and Galahad had slowed their pace slightly from the one they had taken on their way to Rome, but were still making good time along the road. They slowed when they passed other travelers until they were sure that it was not Cymbeline they were passing, then they re-quickened their pace.

Several days after they left Rome, Galahad caught sight of an odd shape lying on the side of the road. He pointed it out to Gawain, and they slowed.

“What is it?” Galahad wondered as they approached the figure.

Gawain didn’t respond, but brought his horse to a stop and dismounted. He approached the still form slowly, with a hand on his sword. He knelt beside the body—because, now that they were close, it was clearly a body—and pushed the hood of the cloak away. As soon as he saw her face, his hand fell from his sword. He rolled her over and checked her breathing and heartbeat.

“Is she alive?” Galahad demanded, dismounting.

“Barely,” Gawain replied.

\-----

Cymbeline woke the next morning beside a low fire, wrapped in warm blankets. Across the fire sat Gawain, leaning against a tree. He didn’t notice right away that she had woken, and continued sharpening his sword until she groaned and started to sit up.

“Careful,” Gawain cautioned, jumping to his feet and crossing the small campsite. He knelt beside Cymbeline and helped her up. “How do you feel?”

“Do you have any water?” Cymbeline rasped.

Gawain nodded and reached for a waterskin. He handed it to her, and she lifted it to her lips gratefully. “Better?” he asked once she lowered it.

“Better,” she smiled.

“Morning,” Galahad smiled, appearing from the side.

“Hello,” Cymbeline said shyly.

“Galahad,” he introduced himself.

“Cymbeline,” she replied.

“Nice to meet you,” he grinned. “Officially.”

“Likewise.”

\-----

Cymbeline rode behind Gawain on his horse, her arms wrapped around his waist and her cheek resting against his back. The return trip to Britain was uneventful; they encountered few travelers, especially as the days shortened rapidly as autumn passed. They reached the coast just in time to catch one of the last ships to Britain. The passage this time was even rougher than before, and Galahad was even sicker. Even Gawain was ill for much of the journey, although not nearly as bad as his friend.

While the knights were sitting (or sprawling) ill on the deck, Cymbeline sat in the prow—or the crow’s nest, when she could get up into it. She breathed deeply the salty sea air, let the wind whip her tangled chestnut curls, and felt the mist hit her skin. At night, she would creep into the hold, damp from the mist and shivering from the chill, and curl up under her blankets. There were a few mornings when Gawain woke to find her curled up against his side for warmth.

When they finally reached Britain, Gawain again flung Galahad over the back of his horse and led it off the ship, Cymbeline following and leading Gawain’s horse.

“It’s early,” Gawain glanced up at the sky. “We still have most of the day.”

“So?” Cymbeline asked.

“We could make good time for the wall,” Gawain shrugged.

“Galahad can’t even stand,” Cymbeline glanced up at the barely-conscious knight. “I doubt he’ll be able to stay on his horse.”

“We could tie him to the saddle,” Gawain suggested.

“I’d rather you didn’t,” Galahad groaned into the side of his horse.

“What’s one more night?” Cymbeline shrugged.

“One more night,” Gawain agreed. “I just hope we make it back to the wall before the snow starts.”

The next morning, they set off for the Great Wall. Cymbeline again rode behind Gawain, Galahad perched unsteadily on his horse. The next several days were long and tiring; they kept long hours, rising with the sun and riding until well after dark. They rode hard, trying to make it home before the winter snow began to fall.

Nearly two months after she had left Rome, Cymbeline saw for the first time the fort that had become Arthur’s capital. For her, it was a new beginning. For the knights she rode with, it was a homecoming—the first time they had ever called the fort home.

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own King Arthur, or any of the characters/themes/events/ideas/etc. from the film. I do, however, own this story, along with all of the characters presented herein.


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